


One Night in Paris, Texas

by TheByronicMan



Series: Texas Zombie Reporter [3]
Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Animal Zombies, Bachelorette Party, Blood and Gore, Gen, Masturbation, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Wedding, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheByronicMan/pseuds/TheByronicMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Has a family member been infected? Do you hate the thought of a loved one staggering around as a zombie? Would you like to give them a proper burial? Jenny Philips and her team from Philips Tracking and Recovery will locate them, put them down with minimal damage, and return them to you so that they can be finally laid to rest.  </p><p>Included as part of the Texas Zombie Reporter series because the main character here is the sister of the main character of TZR, and several TZR characters appear early on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flash Drive

I took an instant dislike to him. I have an aversion to large men who try to intimidate me with their size, and that sort of thing is a bouncer's raison d'être.  
“I'm sorry, ma'am, the club has a policy to not allow entrance to unescorted women. Otherwise we get too many wives and girlfriends barging in and causing scenes. It's bad for business.” 

“Look, sir, I called a week ago and cleared it with your management. There won't be any ugly scenes because the groom's party is at another club.” 

“Okay, let me check on that.” He stepped over to a desk phone and spoke into it in hushed tones. 

I figure it's pretty rare that the bridesmaids and groomsmen have to coordinate the bachelor and bachelorette parties to make sure they don't end up at the same strip club, but Bobbie and her closest friends are all either bi or lesbian. I'm the sole exception in this bunch, but maybe I could pick up a few dance moves to try out on some future boyfriend. In any case, this party was for Bobbie, not me, so here we were at an upscale topless joint called 'The Library.' My big brother Rob and his buddies were several miles away at his favorite party spot, a seedier (and all nude) club just off of north Broadway. It was Bobbie's favorite too, but Rob's best man had won the coin toss. 

A smaller, expensively dressed man entered the room and turned to us. 

“My apologies ladies. When Raven told me a wedding party wanted to reserve a VIP table I assumed she meant the groom's party, and she didn't say any different. I'm afraid our policy is firm.” 

I rummaged through my wallet and showed him my Class A-15 blogger's license. “Jenny Philips, with Texas Zombie Reporter. If you'll let us in and treat the bride right, I can promise you a glowing review.” 

From the look he sent me it was clear that he'd caught the unspoken threat, that turning us away would lead to a scathing review. Not that I could deliver on either the promised threat or reward, because I wasn't really a blogger. When my current profession was legally recognized by the state, they had to scramble to set up training and certification standards. That meant a delay before approved instructors were available, so the newly-formed professional board decided to accept law enforcement certification or Class-A journalist credentials in the meantime. Since my big brother had the necessary contacts, besides being a certified field examiner himself, I went the latter route. Luckily one of Mom's contacts in the state government gave her a heads up as to what the likely board members were planning even before the legislation was introduced, so I was done by the first day applications were accepted. I spent the night before outside the entrance to the office, in line behind six retired police officers. I don't need the blogger license any more, but I keep it up because it sometimes comes in handy. And if the threat needed to be carried out, well, Bobbie is a professional journalist, and she is very good at 'scathing.' 

He replied, “I'll tell you what, if you can convince the next two men in the door to 'escort' you into the club, that will cover my ass with the owners. I'll take half off your cover charge and waive the VIP section fee.” 

“Why not waive the whole cover?” 

“I wish I could, but the state put a head tax on everyone that patronizes any 'sexually oriented business.' I have to collect enough to pay that.” 

At that point, a pair of men walked in, and we got them to agree to the manager's conditions by the simple expedient of paying their cover for them. I wouldn't have minded spending the evening with either or both of them, and one of them looked like he was thinking the same thing. But once again, this wasn't my party. As we walked into the main room, a wall of music hit us. It was just to my taste, one of the latest techno-pop dance hits, but way too loud. A cocktail waitress, unsurprisingly wearing an abbreviated 'sexy librarian' costume, escorted us to our table in the VIP area with a great view of the main stage. It was ringed with sound dampeners that muted the music just enough to allow conversation. The table had six self-cleaning viral test units set in the surface and a notice that blood tests had to be taken once an hour. The waitress took our orders and returned quickly, the VIP area had a separate bar. Fast as she was, she was just barely ahead of the first wave of dancers. 

Rob had told me that women were stripper magnets, and when he took Bobbie to a club they got more attention than he did alone. He says Bobbie gets most of it but plenty spills over on him. I hadn't believed him, yet here I was trying to set up a bar tab with a curvy, minimally-dressed redhead perched in my lap. Well, we were occupying all six chairs at the table and the other laps were quickly taken, so there wasn't any place else for her to sit. Once I was finished dealing with the waitress, introductions were made. The girl relaxing in Bobbie's lap was the aforementioned Raven, while the dancer taking up space between me and the table went by the name Kitsune. I'd have to look it up, but I think the name was a reference to some kind of fox spirit. When Bobbie was introduced as the bride-to-be, another stripper suddenly appeared and squeezed into the chair with her and Raven, introducing herself as Ashley. Immediately after that, the DJ announced it was time for the hourly blood test. Interestingly, these not only tested for live-state Kellis-Amberlee, but also displayed blood alcohol content. 

After another round of drinks for us and a round for the dancers, I let myself get talked into a table dance. I'm such a sucker for peer pressure, but 'when in Rome' and all that. I'm not sure why they call it a table dance, Kitsune spent the whole time in my lap. She was certainly, um, flexible, and when she took her top off I have to admit I got a bit envious. When my vision wasn't obscured by bountiful breasts, I could see the rest of the group receiving the same attention, with Bobbie getting it in stereo from both Raven and Ashley. In those few minutes, I gained a new understanding of lesbians. It wasn't for me, but now I could see the appeal. Female bodies are different, softer, more comfortable. For me, the pleasure was more like that of snuggling into a soft down pillow (okay, two pillows) rather than anything erotic. Besides, she smelled good. 

When the dances were finished, all the men nearby applauded. I realized that I also better understood the popularity of watching girl-on-girl action. Seeing simulated semi-sexual activity between two (or three) women who really enjoyed it was a bit of a turn-on. Unlike the men, I didn't imagine myself in the middle. It made me wish I was at Rob's party, a couple of his groomsmen were hot and I'd love to see them once some strippers had them all worked up. 

We had several more rounds of drinks. The strippers played musical chairs between table dances, except that they used our laps and the 'loser' shared with the girl that got Bobbie. I was cuddling a lapful of Raven, who had just demonstrated that she was a much better dancer than she was a secretary, when I realized Bobbie wasn't in her chair. I blinked, bringing the rest of the room into better focus, and there she was. The VIP area had a small stage of its own, and Bobbie was dancing around the pole wearing only her shoes and g-string. Even to my inexperienced eye, she danced with less skill than the professionals, but she did show great athleticism and enthusiasm. Rob was a lucky man, and I was once again envious of another woman's, um, attributes. She had attracted a bevy of male admirers waving dollar bills at her. I needed to find out where she bought her underwear, I was amazed her g-string hadn't snapped from the wad of cash already tucked into it. On a whim I decided to test its structural integrity myself, dislodging Raven from my lap and taking out a dollar as I approached Bobbie on the stage. She smiled to see me standing there, and she leaned down to subject me to considerable groping and boobs in the face. I giggled the whole way through. She let me slip my dollar into the only available spot (yes, right in the front) then tucked her accumulated cash into my cleavage for safekeeping. I turned to go back to my seat and saw my fellow bridesmaids and Bobbie's other friends waiting in line behind me. 

I watched the rest of the show with both Kitsune and Raven in my lap, plus a buxom blonde whose name I didn't catch leaning on the back of my chair and providing a cushion (well, two cushions) for my head. Bobbie danced for a while longer, then the bouncer came over and spoke to her, after which she put her clothes back on and returned to the table. I learned later that a patrol car had been spotted down the block and that her g-string was just a bit skimpier than the law allowed. It had something to do with the width of the butt floss. Also, the city of San Antonio requires exotic dancers to have a performance license. More alcohol was consumed, until the next hourly test when the displays announced that although we were still free of live-state KA, our BACs were too high for further service from the bar. It was about time to go anyway, so I called for the bill. I blanched at the total, I'd hate to have seen it if the nearby men hadn't been competing to buy our drinks ever since Bobbie's performance. Now I really wish I'd won that coin toss, all nude clubs aren't allowed to serve alcohol but customers can bring their own. Rob's best man wasn't looking at a bill like this. Most of my cash had gone into g-strings to pay for table dances, so I was going to have to put it on my credit card. Damn, and I'd just gotten the balance down to zero a few months before. 

Bobbie spoke up, “Just hold on there a second.” She leaned over and reached for the money she'd stashed in my bra earlier, thoroughly searching both cups before pulling the roll of cash from in between them. She tossed the money on the waitress's tray, then added the bills she'd collected later. “Keep the change.” 

I didn't think it would be enough, but then I looked closer and saw that some of the guys had tipped her with tens and twenties. We staggered out of the bar in pairs, helping keep each other upright, then piled into the limousine I'd rented. Good foresight on my part, none of us were in any shape to drive. We had just turned off the loop onto Broadway, where I peered to the right but couldn't see if Rob's limo was still at the club or not, before I noticed there was an extra body. Kitsune was curled up next to Bobbie. 

“Um, excuse me....”

Bobbie laid a hand on my arm. “Don't worry, she's one of Rob's biggest groupies, and she's come home with us before. Anyway, she's invited to the wedding.” 

I looked at the curvaceous stripper. “Why didn't you say something?” 

“I have to keep it professional at work. Besides, would you have let me dance for you if you knew I'd fucked your brother and your future sister-in-law?” 

“Okay, you have a point there. I don't think it would bother me now, though.” 

She smiled, grabbed my hair and buried my face in her boobs, then kissed me on the cheek. That started a frenzy of groping and kissing until I thought an all-girl orgy was about to break out. I raised the divider between us and the chauffeur to give them a little privacy, but then the action devolved into quiet cuddling. I guess I still don't quite get exhibitionism, but I was willing to learn. However, in the interests of making sure the driver kept his eyes on the road, the partition stayed up. 

I got my next learning opportunity a few miles later when we got to Alamo Heights. Friday night is when the guys cruise up and down Broadway to show off their cars, and the street was packed. It's a new trend, they're copying what the Latinos have been doing down on Military Drive for generations. These are all rich kids, using daddy's money to buy the latest cars and hire mechanics to modify them. They lack the passion of the poorer kids who save up to buy an old junker and do their own repairs, body work, and paint jobs. Still, it was a lot of hot young men in equally hot cars, and Bobbie couldn't resist. She opened the sun roof and stood up to flash them. Kitsune and the others followed suit. I almost balked when it was my turn, but what the hell, I could blame it on the alcohol. I'd been wearing this bra all day, so I stripped to the waist and stood up. I was met with much vocal appreciation from the men, though some of the women watching from the sidewalk looked a little put out. I didn't care, the cheers and whoops I got were just about the same level as had been directed at the others, which made a nice ego boost. Besides, we were just passing through, if any of the guys got turned on by our shamelessness, the girls who hung around would benefit. 

I almost forgot to put my blouse back on when we got to our downtown hotel, but remembered just in time. We'd rented a couple of suites because it was easier to keep the bridal party all in once place and it spared Bobbie the long drive from the outskirts. We exited the limo and made our obnoxiously drunken way through the lobby after testing clean at the entrance. These days being a loud drunk is safer than being a quiet one. If you're vocal, giggling at everything, and singing off-key, then you're obviously alive. But it can be hard to tell the difference between a quiet morose drunk and a zombie. As we rode up to our floor, the glass-fronted elevator looking out over downtown inspired another round of exhibitionism. We split up between the two suites and I was headed for my bedroom when Bobbie's former college roommate (and I strongly suspect, former lover) Lori stopped me. 

“Hey, just because the bride has to be chaste before the wedding doesn't mean the bridesmaids have to. Kate and I would love to have you join us.” 

I smiled. “Hey, I had a great time, but I still don't swing that way. Besides, the way Bobbie and Kitsune were all over each other, I don't think she has chastity in mind for tonight. So someone in the bridal party has to remain pure and allegedly virginal before the wedding, and I guess I'm appointed. I really appreciate the offer.” I put my arms around Lori's neck and pulled her into a long, deep, tongue-dueling kiss. Yeah, blame that on the alcohol too. “Share that with Kate for me, and have fun.” 

“Don't worry, we will.” 

After satisfying a sudden urgent need to visit the bathroom, I followed some brotherly advice and swallowed a couple of painkillers with a big glass of water. Hey, he was right about the strippers, and I guess he knows a thing or two about hangovers. After I stripped down and slipped into bed, I reflected on the evening. I'd had a much better time than I had expected. If any future boyfriend wanted to go a titty bar, that was fine with me as long as I got to go along. But absolutely no take-out. Hell, maybe I'd drag him there and reap the rewards after. 

That last thought was the final straw and my hands slipped under the covers. I was already wet by the time my fingers found their way between my parted legs. I slowly stroked my clit with my index finger while sliding two fingers of my other hand into my pussy. I got more aroused as I thought about the evening. Getting a lap dance was enlightening, but seeing some of the guys nearby getting them was amazing. I pictured myself as one of the dancers, rubbing all over some hot guy, pushing my boobs in his face. Then I would slide down to kneel in front of him, covertly taking his cock out and stroking it to hardness, if that was even necessary by that point. Maybe press my tits around it and give it a few licks, knowing that no one could see what was happening. Then stand up again and turn around to sit in his lap. I would flip my hair so that it hung down in front of me, hiding the action as I slipped my thong to the side and slid down on his cock. I would fuck him until we both came, and no one would be the wiser. 

With that thought I added a third finger, plunging roughly in and out of my cunt while I rubbed my clit harder. Why hadn't I packed a dildo? I expected the strip club to be a turnoff, but it had the opposite effect. Finally, without artificial aid, I exploded in orgasm. I was glad I hadn't gotten my nails done for the wedding yet, or I'd have lost some blood. Slow and careful would not have worked for me. While basking in the post-orgasmic haze, I drifted happily off to sleep.


	2. Strangers at the Wedding

Morning dawned way too early. I rarely wish I'd been born a man, but this was one of those times. Men have it so easy sometimes, a few minutes to shave and shower, even less time to get dressed, run a comb through their hair, and they're ready for any party from a beer bash to a black tie ball. Rob and his buddies could sleep in for hours longer. But at least I felt pretty good, hardly any headache and my stomach was calm. It was the best I'd ever felt after a night of drinking like that. Big brother had been right about preventing hangovers, not that I would ever admit it to him.

Rob and I had always been intensely competitive. We were always racing, fighting, studying for higher grades, and we wore out a dozen gaming consoles and countless decks of cards. I might wish I was curvier, but I looked damned good for my body type, slim and toned, built like a cross between a marathon runner and a gymnast. I owe that to physical contests with my brother. I can survive a cut-throat poker game without losing my shirt, and in a friendly night of strip poker I don't lose it until I want to. Much of my dating success in my teens was because I enjoyed video games, and how they handled being beaten by a girl determined whether there was a second date. I cruised through college. After all those years of matching wits with Rob, dealing with professors was a pleasant challenge rather than a daunting task. Most of my classmates seemed a bit dim in comparison, though the 'non-traditional students' (those 30 and over) proved to me that brains and book learning alone were no match for life experience. I joined Rob in his Hapkido Gangshi (aka 'Zombie Fu') class, and Master Vega recently complimented me on being more technically proficient than Rob, although he has far more practical experience. I'm also a better rifle shot than he is, and that's a high bar to hurdle, but he's better with handguns and especially point-shooting.

The only rules between ourselves growing up were; we couldn't sabotage each other, we couldn't tattle to Mom and Dad when a fight got a little out of hand, and where we weren't competing we had to help each other as much as possible. That's why big brother pulled out all the stops to help me become a zombie tracker. Well, technically I'm a 'Post-Kellis-Amberlee Amplification Manifestation Syndrome Human Tracing and Recovery Professional,' but not even bureaucrats try to use all of that in an acronym so my license number is PTR-6. (One of the cops ahead of me in line failed certification for health reasons) People hire me and my team to track down a particular zombie and bring it back for cremation and burial. Usually it's a family member, sometimes there are legal reasons why it's necessary to prove someone is dead.

All of that aside, Rob was winning the marriage race today, so I wasn't going to concede him any victories on the hard drinking front. I suppose I should have been pouting on the sidelines rather than helping the wedding go forward as Bobbie's maid of honor, but I owed it to her for the way I acted when she first entered Rob's life. I treated her badly, seeing her as an interloper, in no way a suitable replacement for Rob's childhood friend and adulthood lover, Chris. I had a girlish, unrequited crush on Chris myself, and his death hit me pretty hard. She was oh-so-understanding of my distress that I wanted to punch her, not realizing that she was genuinely concerned about my feelings. She loved Rob so much that the thought that she was driving a wedge between us was painful for her. Finally, Dad took me aside for a little attitude adjustment, and Bobbie and I have grown closer ever since. I still wasn't Bobbie's first choice for maid of honor, Lori was, but then Rob threatened to make me his 'best man.' So Bobbie picked me, and for symmetry he took her brother Ben for the best man slot. Lori later thanked me for relieving her of the responsibility.

As I was thinking about Lori, she peeked in to ask if I needed help in the shower.

I waved her off, “I can handle it myself.”

“From what I heard from our room last night, you already did.”

I blushed. I hadn't realized she could hear me. Either she and Kate had been pretty quiet, or they hadn't gotten started until after I passed out. Oh well, I hoped she enjoyed the view as I padded naked to the bathroom. Half an hour later, cleaned, disinfected, shaved, and dressed, I joined her and the rest for the trip down to the salon. I caught Bobbie casting covert glances at me, clearly worried that I might be out of sorts over some of the things that had happened the night before. I allayed her fears with a fierce hug and stood up on my toes to give her a kiss on the cheek. With that, we packed into the elevator for the trip to the ground floor, and no one took the opportunity to flash downtown San Antonio this time. One of the reasons we chose this hotel was because we could get our hair and makeup done here, and when we entered the salon the staff was waiting to descend on Bobbie and whisk her away to make her even more beautiful for her big day.

The rest of us had our turns as the experts finished up with Bobbie, and after about three hours we trooped back up to the room to finish getting dressed. I was way out of practice with hose and had no experience with garter belts, but Kate helped me get everything in place, only feeling me up a little in the process. After deforming myself into a push-up bra that gave me the illusion of having C cups, I looked in the mirror. The cleavage on display was well worth the effort, and I definitely needed to get some stockings and garters for the my dating arsenal. Next came the heels, and a matching clutch purse just large enough to conceal my handgun. My calves are a little too muscular to be perfect, but they still looked pretty good. Finally, the dress, a medium gray number that matched the groomsmen's bow ties and cummerbunds. Rob abhors bright colors, an occupational hazard. I liked the color, it made the bridesmaids dresses understated and elegant rather than the customary gaudy. And they made a great backdrop for Bobbie's dress, an off-white silk with pearls that suited her Amazonian frame and perfectly set off her coffee and cream complexion.

I twirled in front of the mirror, my hemline flaring out to reveal the tops of my stockings and my hair flowing in a wave behind me. I love dressing up, but don't get many chances these days. The clients all expect braids, armor, and weapons, and don't take me seriously otherwise. I suppose the zombies might prefer me in a skimpy dress, cumbersome high heels, and easily grab-able hair, at least as much as they are capable of preferring anything, but they were stuck with the warrior-princess look too.

My little pirouette had left my hair disarranged, so I brushed it back into place, glad I hadn't opted for any complicated hairstyle. With surprise I realized we were ready to go and still had nearly an hour before the wedding was to start. While the rest of the bridesmaids did some last minute primping, I went and sat beside Bobbie.

“Look, I don't really have any problems with last night, I just don't get it. I mean, there's Kitsune, and that business between Rob and the Park Ranger chick. I mean, you two are about to get married.”

Bobbie took my hand and held it in both of hers, looking into my eyes. “I know, hon. How two people with such different outlooks as you and Rob could come out of the same household is beyond me. Here's how it is; Rob and I believe that love can't be divided, only multiplied. If I have sex with or even love someone else, that doesn't lessen my love for him. And if I love him, I want him to be happy, even if sometimes he's happy in the arms of someone else. We both try not to get involved with anyone who won't accept that Rob and I will always be together. There have been a few that tried to cause problems, but we got shed of them and our relationship grew stronger.”

I looked down nervously, and she patiently waited for me to meet her eyes again before continuing.

“We haven't met anyone who wants to stick around for the long haul, but we hope to someday. We would love to be in a long-term quad, or maybe even a line marriage.”

“Okay, I can figure out what a quad is, but what's a line marriage?”

“What, your dad never made you read The Moon is a Harsh Mistress ? A line marriage remains open to new people marrying in, generally with the unanimous consent of the spouses. That way it continues even after the original spouses are gone. Rob and I like the idea of our marriage living on after we are dead.”

“Does Rob know about you and Kitsune last night?”

“He sure does, I sent him a text first thing this morning. He spent the night alone after getting all worked up at the party, poor guy. He'll be raring to go for the wedding night.”

Bobbie looked blissful at the prospect.

“Anyway, one of our rules is that we always let each other know who and when. When we're apart, that's all he wants to know.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I want to know every salacious detail. Keep in mind, anytime he leaves the house, he has cameras with him. And I can control them.”

“You mean you watch?”

“Hell yes! And letting the more persistent groupies know that I'm going to watch sends most of them away without hurting their feelings. If they're still interested, well, I love watching your brother in action. He could have been a porn star, he's one hell of a man, especially where it counts. If you know what I mean.”

I knew. I'd never intentionally peeked at Rob, but growing up sharing a bathroom, accidents were bound to happen. It was on my second time watching the original George Romero trilogy that I realized why he had named his personal blog 'Anthropological Curiosity.' He loves subtle innuendos.

“Do you record the videos?”

“Of course. I'd offer to show you, but I don't think Rob would go for that, and he made promises to the women.”

“Okay, that's the first thing you've said that's really freaked me out. I have no interest in watching my brother 'in action.' But, umm, just women?”

“Yeah, he shies away from men. I'm sure you can understand why. But I think he's starting to get over it.”

I understood. Chris' death was rough on him, and he blames himself. That's why he never took on another partner for field work, he doesn't want to put anyone he cares about at risk. Not even me. He supports me in my career as much as he can, but he has refused every offer to go along with me. He doesn't want to have to be the one to put me down if something goes wrong.

I looked up at the clock. “Oops, time to get moving.”

Bobbie and I gathered up the rest of the bridesmaids and went looking for the limo driver. We found him in one of the bedrooms in Bobbie's suite, but not the one that she and Kitsune had used. I couldn't tell which of the remaining two women had shared it with him, and no one was saying. Hell, maybe it was both, he looked like he was in good enough shape for the ordeal, and it would explain why he was still crashed out. We headed back down to the lobby with him apologizing the whole way for not having the car ready. We made it to the appointed spot in front of the fountains at Hemisfair Plaza on time. The weather was clear, so they had dispensed with the tent, leaving just a screen for Bobbie to hide behind until it was time to make her grand entrance.

I had this impression that the wedding was beautiful and perfect. But the last thing I remembered was walking down the aisle alongside Ben, clutching his arm as though my life depended on it. My second-in-command and ex-boyfriend, Lance, sent me a discreet thumbs-up from where he stood with the rest of Rob's groomsmen. I don't remember letting go of Ben, but I must have. I had to have been even more nervous than Bobbie, terrified I would do something to distract attention from her. Or even worse, get me ridiculed on YouTube. Another hazard of Rob and Bobbie's occupation, there were cameras everywhere, their own and those of the guests. Most of the guests were Rob's fellow Irwins, the only people crazy enough to enjoy being outdoors in a crowd this size.

Unfortunately for them, no zombies interrupted the ceremony. At least, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed something like that. Oh well, at least my crew helped populate the bride's side of the aisle. My next coherent memory was of the guests cheering as Rob and Bobbie wrapped themselves around each other and kissed passionately, and the brief flash of amusement on the minister's face at the sight of Rob groping Bobbie's ass. I was pretty sure the ass-groping was mutual, but I couldn't see for sure.

The newlywed couple led the procession to the base of the Tower of the Americas and took the first elevator up by themselves. Like our hotel, the front of the elevator was glass, but Bobbie refrained from flashing us. She and Rob did however wave as they rose out sight. The wedding party was next, followed by the guests. Upon arriving at the restaurant at the top of the tower I got my first look at the wedding cake. Surprisingly, they had opted for traditional figurines at the top rather than something zombie-themed. Then I looked more closely. There were figures representing the bridesmaids and groomsmen on the lowest tier, armed and poised to defend the happy couple from the horde of zombies populating the groom's cake.

Much food and alcohol was consumed, toasts were toasted, the pleasant glow from a few glasses of champagne calmed my nerves. The wedding cake was cut, and each of us in the wedding party got the slice with our own figure atop it. Mine was an amazingly good likeness, even had me carrying my favorite rifle. Then it was time for the dancing.

There was no space big enough on the main floor, so we made our way up one level to the bar overlooking the dining room. The new husband and wife danced to some fifty or sixty year old country song that I'd never heard before. It was sweet and appropriate, but just not to my taste. I claimed the next dance with Rob, while Bobbie danced with her brother Ben. The previously mentioned Park Ranger was in line behind me, and Bobbie's friend 'Iceman' was next up with her. Both dances were far more affectionate than mine and Ben's had been. I had seen Iceman's car around their building from time to time when Rob was in the field, but after my talk with Bobbie I trusted that Rob knew and approved. After watching a while longer, I made my way back down to the dining room. I stood there for a moment, stupidly wondering where my table had gone. I didn't think I'd had that much to drink, but finally remembered that the dining room is supposed to spin. It makes one revolution an hour, giving diners a view of the entire city over dinner. My seat had migrated around the curve. Luckily, to the benefit of serious drinkers, the bar stays put. I finally found my chair and slid into it, spending a few minutes staring into my empty champagne glass and wondering where the waiters had disappeared to.

The kitchen door burst open, disgorging five men wielding silenced handguns. They began to level their guns at the crowd when there came the sounds of dozens of safeties clicking off, that of my Colt 10mm caseless among them. Lance was instantly beside me with his own gun drawn, no doubt to the annoyance of his date. The intruder's faces were bathed in the glow of tactical flashlights and peppered with the red dots of laser sights. Assaulting an Irwin's wedding ranks right up there in stupidity with robbing a cop bar. They stood dumbfounded for a moment, then dropped their guns and raised their hands. They were quickly tackled to the floor and trussed up with whatever was handy. I looked up to see Rob leaning over the bar railing, tucking Dad's old Colt Peacemaker under his coat. How the hell had he managed to conceal that monster under a tux? Then I remembered my conversation with Bobbie, and reflected that he was used to carrying a cannon around in his pants. The wedding guests were starting to relax again when my brain suddenly kicked in.

Silencers. Absent waiters. I shouted, “Heads up! We may have an outbreak!”

I could almost hear the crickets chirping as twenty heartbeats passed and nothing happened. Lance and I kept our guns raised, waiting. Then the first moans came, and one of the cooks staggered through the kitchen door, a bloodstain in the center of his chest. Over a dozen assorted cooks, waiters, and other staff followed him, moving with the jerky speed of the recently converted. He went down with one of my prefragmented bullets pulping his brain, and the ex-waiter right behind him dropped from a nearly identical head shot as Lance fired. The rest lunged desperately at the crowd, but a fusillade of fire took them down. Almost all head shots, I loved working with professionals. A few brave souls ventured into the kitchen. Hell, they all headed towards the kitchen, but the first three to the door were allowed to proceed without a crowd dogging their heels. More gunshots sounded, and a few minutes later the stalwart Irwins reappeared, just in time to take their turns with the test kits. Everyone came up green. Several others raided a maintenance closet for bottles of bleach, and had just liberally applied it to the bodies and blood stains when an SAPD tactical squad exited the elevator.

Hm, less than five minutes from the first shots, impressive response time. Maybe this big a crowd of Irwins had made the city nervous enough to keep them on standby. They seemed almost disappointed to have nothing to do other than secure the scene. After another fifteen minutes the detectives arrived, putting an end to the party. In attempting to question a bunch of trained and experienced journalists, they gave as much information as they got. The gunmen were all known to work for one of the cross-border drug cartels, likely the one that Rob had recently annoyed. They were low-level thugs, probably considered disposable and not intended to survive. The lead detective speculated that the zombies were supposed to be the real threat. He looked chagrined at having admitted that, and excused himself from the room.

Finally, the questioning was completed and we all moved towards the elevators to return home. We filtered into the parking garage in time to see Rob gallantly assist Bobbie in boarding his old surplus armored vehicle, which he had recently nicknamed 'The Dilemma' after attaching a massive pair of horns from a longhorn bull to the front end. Rob also loves bad puns. I smiled to see he had finally gotten the programmable paint job he'd been lusting after for years, and he had set it to display an animated white banner that read 'Just Married.' After the newlyweds headed out for parts unknown, the rest of us went our separate ways. I thought about trying to cut a likely-looking man out of the crowd for some nighttime stress relief, but I had a client meeting first thing in the morning.


	3. The Client

 

 

The alarm went off a bit too early and I was seriously tempted to just shut it off and go back to sleep. I'm pretty much always tempted to do that, which is why my alarm clock is on the other side of the room instead of next to the bed. Having to get out of bed to go turn it off makes it more likely that I'll stay up. Once the annoying sound was gone, the tantalizing smell of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen told me I'd remembered to set the timer. I followed the aroma, and a couple of cups had me feeling ready to face the day.

It was time to get dressed. I was meeting with a client later, so I needed to look tough and competent. I headed back to the bedroom and worked my hair into one long braid down my back while I contemplated my closet. The day would be too hot for full field gear, so I went with boots, jeans, and t-shirt, topped with an alligator-hide jacket Rob had given me for my last birthday. The jacket was lined with Kevlar and had chainmail at strategic points, so it would give me enough of a zombie-hunter look to reassure the client. If I left it open in front, I wouldn't melt whenever I had to leave air-conditioned comfort.

Thus attired, I left my apartment and took the elevator down to the garage level. The elevator operates on the roach motel model, you can enter freely but have to pass a blood test to exit. If you fail the floor opens up and you plunge into a bleach water pool in the basement. The idea is to make false positives survivable and to avoid a “kill them all” approach to mixed groups of infected and living people. The theory is that because zombies can't swim it will give the uninfected a chance to get away. The concept hasn't caught on, and this is the only building I know of that uses it.

In any case, I passed, and the elevator disgorged me a short distance from my car. I'd only had it a few months, a previous client who owned a car dealership had given it to me as a bonus for quick work, but I was already in love with it. It was a 2039 Dodge Rampage, with the speed and handling of a sports car, the cargo space of a light truck, and enough power to plow through a small pack of zombies. Not that I ever intended to take it out in the field, but it was nice to have the capability in case of an outbreak close to home. I climbed in and started it up, waited impatiently to get through the exit gate, then burned rubber down the street to the loop.

I made good time. The highway was built to handle pre-Rising rush hour traffic, but these days most people telecommute so the road was almost empty. I took the exit for Austin Highway and a few minutes later I pulled up in front of my office. It was a gift from my parents when I went into business, and I was grateful to have it. My folks had made a killing in real estate after the Rising. The value of property near large cemeteries plummeted once the dead started walking, and my parents bought up a bunch of it at bargain prices. Once people got it through their heads that the long dead weren't going to claw their way up out of their graves, and that cemeteries with their long sight-lines, fences, and lack of crowds were among the safest plots of land in a city, values went back up and my folks cashed in. This lot was wedge-shaped, with the widest end facing the cemetery and only a narrow frontage on the main road, so they never could get their asking price for it. I placed my hand on the test unit next to the front door, and after it showed green I entered the former pawn shop that we'd converted into office space.

Riki was sitting at the receptionist desk and put down her taco as I walked in. “Good morning, Jenny. That was a lovely wedding, when will it be your turn?”

“I gotta find a man first. Is our client here yet?”

“No, she's not due for half an hour.”

“Let me know when she gets here.”

Noriko Tamura was a brilliant auto mechanic. She learned the trade in the Army and then opened her own shop when she got out. Riki sold her business and retired a few years ago when she hit 50. She promptly got bored and started looking for part time work. I met her through Rob, her military experience made her the best choice for keeping his LAV in good running order and making the modifications he wanted. I hired her to maintain our vehicles and fill in as receptionist.

I made my way to the conference room and found that this was one of the rare occasions when everyone was here on time. We exchanged greetings as I snagged a couple of chorizo and egg tacos and sat down, trying not to grimace at the camera in the corner. Rob and Lance had talked me into doing a webcast reality show on Rob's site, and our newest client was the first one to agree to filming. I wasn't too hot on the idea, but the extra revenue and advertising could be useful. So we had cameras set up all over the place, plus some unobtrusive ones to attach to our clothing. Mine was waiting at my place at the table, and I sighed as I clipped it to my jacket. As I ate, I looked around at my team.

To my right was Lance Heinrich. He used to be an Irwin, one of Rob's betas. When Lance and I started dating, he decided to change careers. Unfortunately our relationship didn't survive working together. We stayed friends, and still fell into bed together once in a while when we were both single, but he had a new girlfriend that looked likely to stick around. Having both been trained by my brother, we made a great team in the field.

Next around the table was Gilbert Dominguez. A licensed private investigator, he soon got bored mostly doing low level work for the agency that first hired him and tried to strike out on his own. But most of his clients saw the large muscular exterior and discounted the agile mind behind the brutish facade. When I first posted an ad looking for a trained investigator willing to go out and hunt zombies, he applied within minutes. A number of women, me included, were disappointed to learn that he's gay. His husband is a chef and the main reason nobody is late to work when it's Gil's turn to bring breakfast.

Sitting across from me was Ashley Pierson. She was dentist until a bitter ex-boyfriend falsely accused her of molesting her patients under sedation. No charges were filed, and no patients accused her, but the damage to her reputation was severe. When I approached her seeking dental records of a patient of hers that I had been hired to find, she was trying to hold her practice together while taking post-graduate classes in forensic odontology. We got to talking, and I realized that it would be handy to have someone who could verify identities from dental records before transporting the body all the way home. When I pointed out that she could earn more working for me than she would in a police forensics lab, she immediately signed on.

Seated to my right was Daniel Kane. He was an EMT until he showed up for work drunk one too many times. Getting fired shook him up enough to start dealing with his alcoholism. He's pretty well convinced that I'll shoot him if he gets drunk in the field, and we usually operate well away from the nearest bar or liquor store. I wasn't sure about hiring him, but he proved his worth one time when the subject we were tracking turned out to be alive but injured. Dan was the only member of my team to skip the wedding reception, the open bar would have been too much temptation.

I was just licking the last of the chorizo off of my fingers when Riki called on the intercom. “Miss Castillo is here to see you.”

“Okay, send her in.” We all stood as Riki ushered in a young woman, my age or a few years older. Her skin was paler than her last name would suggest, and she was wearing a skirted business suit that was clearly custom fitted, expensive but understated. That outfit was probably worth enough to pay a good chunk of our fee, a good sign in a client.

“Miss Castillo, I'm Jenny Philips, and this is my team.” I made introductions, then added, “Please take a seat.”

We all sat down again, with the client placing a memory stick and a folder of printouts on the table in front of her. I said, “What brings you here today?”

She took a deep breath. “My father, Antonio Castillo, is missing, probably somewhere in or around Paris. He was due back over a week ago. He's been late before, but he always calls. I haven't heard from him since he first got there.”

“I presume you mean Paris, Texas, otherwise we can't help you.”

“Yes. My father is a salvage hunter. He goes into abandoned areas and recovers valuable items with the permission of the legal owner of the property. He then either delivers it to the owner for a fee, or sells it and gives the owner a share of the proceeds. Sometimes he will pay the owner up front for the right to keep anything he finds.”

“And that is what he was doing in Paris?”

“That's correct. He was asked by the descendants of a cotton magnate to recover heirlooms, jewelry, and a stash of gold and silver coins from their former family home. My father also bought permission to go through a nearby storage facility. He approached the owners of other homes in the city, but I don't know if they agreed to allow him access.”

“Do you have the addresses?”

“Right here,” she said, tapping the folder, “and a complete list of the items he was asked to recover. I have all the requested documents listed on your website except for the dental x-rays. His dentist was unwilling to give them to me.”

Ashley said, “Guess I know what I'll be doing this morning.”

“Yep. And if professional courtesy doesn't work, I'll unleash the attorney on him.” I turned back to the client. “Does your father go out alone?”

“No, he takes four men with him. One is a locksmith and safe cracker, the others take turns loading and watching for zombies. I will pay the additional fees if you bring them back as well.”

I spent the next hour asking Miss Castillo more questions, with Gil chiming in now and then. He's a better interrogator than I am, but clients prefer to deal with the woman in charge. Finally I presented her with about a ream of documents to sign and accepted her funds transfer for our retainer.

After escorting the client out the door, I turned to my team. “Okay, y'all know what to do. We'll meet back here at lunch for a progress report.”

Lance, Gil, and Ash headed to their offices, while Dan and I went out the back door to the old repair shop facing the cemetery. The first bay door was open and Riki had the front end of the RV pulled into it. We went inside, and Riki's feet were sticking out from under the front bumper. With a successful retrieval on this case, we should be able to put in a proper mechanic's pit for her.

“Is there a problem, Riki?”

Her muffled voice came from beneath the RV, “No, just an oil change. It would have been due before you got back.”

“What would we do without you?”

“Walk a lot.”

With a chuckle, Dan and I climbed into the RV. The test unit was off because we weren't in the field, but we still had to go through the entry lock one at a time. Dan went first, and by the time I was inside he was already inventorying his medical supplies. I opened up the gun safe and loaded all the rifles into a rolling case. Everyone was responsible for their own handguns and any extra weapons they chose to carry, but I maintained the rifles. I took the guns across the lot to the second garage, which we had turned into an indoor range. It was barely forty feet from the shooting line to the end wall. That was enough space to verify that they were sighted in properly, but if any of the sights had been knocked out of alignment I'd have to go to a commercial range to sight them back in.

I laid the rifles out on a work bench. Six 10mm carbines with laser sights, zeroed at fifty yards. They took the same ammo and magazines as our handguns, making it convenient to share between team members when necessary. I also had a pair of M14s for longer range shooting, with variable power scopes sighted in at 200 yards. I set up a target at the far end of the range, then clamped one of the carbines into the bench rest. I adjusted the rest so that the laser dot was centered on the bulls-eye and fired a three-round group. Checking the target, I found that the rounds left a ragged hole just a bit larger than the bullet diameter a fraction of an inch above the bulls-eye. I measured the difference and found that it was exactly where it should be for bullet drop to bring the rounds on target at fifty yards. I repeated the process with the other carbines and they all passed. Both M14s also passed, with the rounds striking just below the center of the target because at that short range they were still rising towards the first zero point.

We had gotten in a case of ammo and I needed to test that to make sure it worked properly. People who can afford my services can also afford the added biohazard precautions and fees to hold a viewing of the body of their loved ones before cremation. Our contract specifies that we get a bonus if the client has a viewing, so it's in our financial interest to deliver as pretty a corpse as possible. That's why we carry Glaser Zombie rounds, even though I don't entirely trust them to do the job. I selected one round at random from each box and loaded them into a magazine. Then I set up the targets, which were cleaned and sterilized human skulls filled with ballistic gelatin. A little morbid, maybe, but nothing makes for a better test than real bone. I was just sliding the magazine into a carbine when Ashley walked in wheeling her portable digital x-ray scanner.

“Hang on, Ash, I'll just be a minute.”

“Okay.”

I took aim and fired a round through the forehead of each skull, then I went up to examine them. They looked right from the outside, just a neat round hole through the bone and no exit wound. Had these been subjects, a mortician could apply a little putty and makeup, and no one would be able to tell there was a bullet hole. Next step was for Ashley to check how well they worked on the inside. I sat at the bench and starting stripping and cleaning the rifles while she went to work.

“Any problems with the dentist?”

“No, he was very cooperative. He had everything collected and ready to send when I called, he just needed to be sure he was covered legally.”

“Then why'd it take so long?”

“Well... He also asked me out tonight.”

“Have fun and don't stay out too late. We leave at dawn.”

“What makes you think I accepted?”

“If you'd turned him down you would have been out here sooner.”

“You got me there.”

We worked in silence for a while, then Ashley handed me a tablet displaying a series of x-ray images. Glaser Zombie rounds are designed specifically for head shots. They're made as a hollow brass jacket packed with small lead shot. The jacket cuts a hole through the skull, slowing down abruptly and splitting apart once it penetrates. The denser lead keeps going, spreading out in a broad cone through the brain matter. Ideally, it will reduce the brain to mush without exiting the other side and spraying infected blood and tissue everywhere. Judging by the x-rays, these all worked just fine and would probably have been one-shot kills in the field. Unfortunately, you can't always get an ideal shot, so we all carry standard hollowpoint rounds as well.

“Looks good,” I said.

“Yep, and my gear is working too.”

Another advantage of using real skulls for ballistics tests is that it gives Ashley a chance to calibrate her x-ray machine. Being able to take dental x-rays in the field has saved us some time and trouble more than once.

“Going to have any trouble identifying Mr. Castillo?” I asked, as Ashley sat beside me to help finish cleaning the rifles.

“He's had so many cavities filled that I could probably do it by eye.”

“Did you get records on the others?”

“Yep, they all went to the same dentist. From the amount of work they've had done, he can afford to take me someplace expensive.”

I laughed and we got back to work. We finished up and stashed everything back in the RV, then headed for the offices.

 


	4. Treasure Hunters

 

When Ashley and I walked in, everyone else was waiting in the conference room with takeout from the Chinese place next door. We sat down and dug in.

Once the initial hunger pangs were quieted I asked, “Okay, Lance, what did you find?”

“Mr. Castillo and his company have a large media footprint. Every major find he's brought back has generated stories and he gets coverage for a number of charitable causes he supports. On the negative side, there have been several accusations of him looting homes without getting permission. Jewelry and antiques from areas where he has operated have been identified in some less than reputable shops. If he is doing it, he's smart about it, nothing has turned up less than six months after he had the opportunity to take it. There hasn't been enough evidence for prosecution and no reputable lawyer has been willing to take a civil case against him.”

“Wow. That possibility is going to widen our search area. Gil, what have you got?”

“Miss Castillo provided her login and password for the company computer network. They do extensive research before going out in the field, we could maybe learn something from them. But I only found records for completed jobs, nothing about Paris or anything else that's pending. I looked around for encrypted partitions, but didn't find anything. They must be keeping their preliminary research on an off-network system until they close the file. Maybe they have to worry about claim jumpers. I did break into their financial records. Nothing out of the ordinary, if there is any illicit income they're burying it remarkably well or keeping it separate from company finances.”

Lance added, “Yeah, he does have to worry about 'claim-jumpers.' At least six incidents have been reported, including one gun battle last year.”

“Right. Gil, you're with me this afternoon. We'll go by Castillo's office and check for an offline computer.” I thought for a moment. “So we've got the possibility of foul play. Aside from rivals, does anyone else stand to gain from his death?”

Gilbert answered, “Financially, just the daughter. She owns 20% of the company, and inheriting her father's 40% would give her a solid majority. The other 40% is owned by Castillo's partner, a Mr. Elliot Richards. He's better off as things stand now, with Castillo not available to vote his shares, Richards has a controlling interest.”

I leaned back in my chair. “So if Miss Castillo arranged for something to happen to her father, then she needs us to prove that he's dead. On the other hand, there's the risk that we could turn up evidence that implicates her.”

At that point Riki walked in, having taken the time to clean up and change. She took advantage of a pause in the conversation. “Oil change is done, and I've gone over the trailer and the quads. Everything is ready to go.”

I turned to the rest of the team. “Ash, Dan, all of your gear is ready?”

Ashley nodded, but Dan said, “We've got some antibiotics that are about to expire and I need to replace the field test kits we used on the last job. I put in the order as soon as we got back but it hasn't been delivered yet. After we're done here I'll go get the stuff in person.”

“Good. Gil, if you're done eating let's head out.”

“Yeah, I'm done.”

We went out to my car and headed downtown. Castillo's office was in one of the older high-rises located on the San Antonio River, downstream from most of the bars. It had initially been a bank headquarters and office building, then converted into a business-class hotel, and finally back to offices after business travel dropped to almost nothing. The security was even more paranoid than usual, with blood tests to get into the parking garage, enter the building, get on the elevator, exit the elevator, and finally one at the door to the office.

As we entered the office, a receptionist greeted us. “Welcome to Castillo-Richards Retrieval Services, how can we help you?”

I pulled out my PTR license. “Jennifer Philips, Philips Tracking and Recovery. I've been retained by Miss Castillo to look for her father, and we need access to his office.” No, it's not an accident that my profession and my business have the same initials.

“Let me just check with Mr. Richards.”

“That won't be necessary,” a middle-aged man said, emerging from a nearby office. “I heard.”

“Mr. Richards? I'm Jennifer Philips.”

“Nice to meet you. Now please leave the premises.”

“I've been hired by....”

“Carmilla doesn't have the authority to give you confidential information, and I won't have outsiders poking around in our files. I've locked her out of the network and if you attempt to access our system again I will call the police.”

“Look, we're just trying to find Mr. Castillo. I understand he's a week overdue.”

“Tony has been late before. I'm not surprised he's taking this long, one of the sites probably has a lot of junk to sift through and another was known by the descendants to have a hidden room, but they couldn't provide any details. Carmilla is just overreacting.”

I spent another fifteen minutes trying to convince him, finally giving up and leaving when he threatened to have us arrested for trespassing. Waiting for the elevator, I briefly considered trying to stick my foot in the test unit to give my poor pin-pricked hands a break, but I wasn't sure it would work. On the ride down, Gil started to say something but I silenced him, gesturing at the speaker grill. There probably wasn't anyone listening in, but I didn't want to take the chance. Soon we were back in my car where we could be reasonably sure of privacy.

Gil said, “Do you figure Castillo has a home office?”

“Great minds think alike. Any chance they spotted you getting into their finances?”

“No way. A script kiddie could breeze in and out of their network without a trace. I would have tripped something if I'd tried to alter anything, but they only reason they knew I was in their system at all is because I used Miss Castillo's login. I could get in again if you need me to.”

“I don't think that will be necessary.”

I called the client to get her father's address and ask her to meet us there. Hanging up, I muttered, “Damn. Alamo Heights.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Gil didn't need to know about my shameless display the other night. I'd been hoping to avoid that part of town for a while. Hopefully if I encountered anyone from that evening they wouldn't recognize me fully dressed. Twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of a large pre-Rising home with heavy steel grates on the ground-floor windows. Miss Castillo met us at the door, which turned out to be pressed steel with full perimeter locking bars, but had to have been custom made to match the architecture.

“I can show you to my father's office, but I don't have the password for his computer.”

“Do we have your permission to hack into it?”

“Yes, as long as you don't damage anything.”

“That much I can promise,” Gil said.

We were shown to a room with two desktop computers and three walls consisting entirely of bookshelves. I hadn't seen that many physical books in one place since moving out of my parents' home. Gil sat at the desk, typing first on one computer and then on the other.

He indicated the second one. “This has to be it. He's changed the admin password and has kept up with security updates despite not being connected to the net. This may take an hour or so.”

Gil set up his laptop and opened a case of memory sticks. I left him to his arcane computer wizardry and perused Castillo's library. Most of the books were pricing guides for everything from baseball cards, toys, and comic books to gold coins, antiques, and classic cars. The rest were mainly about legends of lost treasures. The books were lined up at the shelf edges with almost obsessive neatness, except for one that was sticking out at a slight angle. Curious, I pulled it from the shelf and sat down to read.

After about 45 minutes, Gil spoke up. “Okay, I'm in. Looks like he only got permission for the two sites. I've found a dozen more addresses he was interested in, several of which were not on the list we were given. He also downloaded a detailed topographical map of the area north of town.”

I looked up from the book. “Has he bought any digging equipment recently?”

“Not that I've found, but his truck is equipped with a small backhoe and a power auger. Hm, I did find a purchase order from last month for a ground-penetrating radar, and about the same time he rented a plane with a magnetic anomaly detector.”

“Then I think I know what he's really after. North of Paris there used to be a WW II Army training and POW camp. According to this book they were training an armored division for the invasion of Japan when the Japanese surrendered. Supposedly, the Army disposed of all of the division's equipment by burying it. They dug deep trenches, just drove in tanks, jeeps, and trucks loaded with guns, ammo, shovels, boots, helmets, whatever, then covered it all.”

“I don't think there would be anything worth digging up after all this time.”

I waved the book. “According to this, the small arms were packed in barrels of cosmoline. As long as the barrels stayed intact, the guns should be in perfect shape. Unfired Browning Automatic Rifles, M1 Garands, Thompson submachine guns, and Colt 1911s in brand new condition. Those would be worth a fortune to collectors. My brother _probably_ wouldn't pledge his first born for a share of that stash, but he would have to think about it first.”

“You have a point there. Okay, I have all the data downloaded, nothing else to do here.”

“Then let's go.”

Miss Castillo escorted us outside, where I thanked her for her cooperation without telling her what we had discovered. It was a short drive back to the office, where we briefed the rest of the team. I had hoped to talk to Riki, figuring she might have heard something about Camp Maxey while she was in the Army, but she had already left for the day so I sent her an email. I sent one to Rob as well, asking him to check with his contacts at Ft. Hood. After a few hours of final preparations, Ashley left for her date and the rest of us went out for Mexican food before splitting up and heading home for the night. I went to bed early so that I would be well rested to meet everyone else at dawn.

 


	5. Unexpected Guests

Much to my surprise, I woke up a few minutes ahead of the alarm. Normally, I'm more likely to be just heading to bed at such an ungodly hour of the morning rather than getting up. I managed to find my way out of bed and turn it off before it could sound, then made my way to the shower. I took my time and used plenty of hot water, wallowing in the luxury. Once we were in the field it would be five-minute decon showers, and the water heater in the RV was so small that only the first couple of people got hot water. Finally I managed to motivate myself to get on with the day and started the long process of drying my hair. I don't even bother to towel off the rest of me, by the time my hair is done any water on my skin has evaporated. With that chore completed, I slipped on a robe, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down to check my email. I had a reply from Rob.

* * *

_I suggest you make a heartfelt apology to Bobbie. She didn't appreciate you contacting me about business matters while we're on our honeymoon. Luckily I had already arranged for her to get several hours of pampering in a local spa, so I had some free time to make inquiries._

_Major Sanders is not familiar with Camp Maxey, since the Army ceded it to the Texas National Guard almost a century ago. He asked around, and some of his troops have heard of the fabled guns of the 49 th Division. All agree that they probably were buried. Opinion is divided on whether or not they are still there. At the time of the Rising the Guard still used a portion of Camp Maxey for training purposes, but a good chunk of the land is under what is now Pat Mayse Lake and the lake shore was converted to parks, with much of the rest of the land sold to private parties. _

_After incidents of farmers plowing up unexploded artillery shells and other ordnance, the Corps of Engineers did a survey and recommended a cleanup of the site. That cleanup was underway in 2014 and no one is sure how far along the job was when that other little matter rose up. Some believe the Corps had substantially completed a cleanup to depth, while others insist that only near surface collection had been done._

_Be warned, it is believed that land mines and other explosive ordnance had been intentionally placed above and around the burial site in order to discourage digging in the area. Unprotected, that ordnance is likely to be badly degraded and unstable by now. Remember when Tyler was playing around with triiodide? Yeah, about like that._

_I hope that helps. And if your target has already dug up some guns... Ah, never mind._

* * *

Oops, Bobbie had every right to be pissed. I got so caught up in my own business that I forgot Rob had more important things to attend to. At least I had a little more evidence that the story was more than a hoax. I forwarded the relevant part of Rob's email to the rest of the team. I was just heading to get dressed when Riki called.

“Jenny, you need to come down to the office right away. There's been a break in.”

“Anything missing?”

“Don't know yet. Gotta go, the police just arrived.”

I rushed through getting dressed and hurried down to my car. I burned rubber down the street, taking advantage of the early hour to run a couple of red lights before reaching the loop. I didn't slow down when existing at Austin Highway, figuring all the nearby police would be at my office. Sure enough, when I pulled into the lot there were three patrol cars there with their lights going. Dan was leaning against one of them, handcuffed. I stalked up to the cop standing next to him.

“Why have you restrained my employee?”

The cop turned to me. “He's being investigated for possession of narcotics.”

“He's a certified paramedic employed in a private medical support position who regularly works in Level 7 and higher hazard zones. He's authorized by state and federal law to stock and administer narcotics.” I've explained that so many times over the last few years that it just rolls off my tongue without me having to think about it.

“We need to verify that, ma'am.”

Dan broke in, seeing the building rage in my eyes. “Calm down, Jenny. Riki called our lawyer, and he got the police to hold off on taking me downtown while he works on waking someone up who can confirm my credentials. The licensing board offices aren't staffed at this time of morning.”

I turned back to the cop, still simmering. “Can you at least take the cuffs off, seeing as how he's cooperating?”

“My sergeant says he's an alcoholic and doesn't believe he kept his license.”

Dan shrugged. “It was suspended for six months, reactivated after I showed a commitment to attend counseling.”

“Sarge said you've missed a lot of meetings the last couple of years.”

“Ah, Sergeant Fellers. Tell him it's her fault,” Dan said, jerking his head towards me. “She keeps taking me places where there aren't any meetings. Or bars. I make it up on other days, he can ask my sponsor. For that matter, tell him not to expect me tomorrow night.”

The cop said nothing. Dan turned back to me. “Everything's under control here. Why don't you go check with Riki, she's in the office with another of San Antonio's Finest.”

“Fine, I'll do that.”

I went inside, figuring I'd find them in Gil's office because that's where the server that records the feed from our security cameras is located. Sure enough, Riki was sitting at Gil's desk, handing a memory stick to a police officer.

“Thank you, ma'am. Y'all got some clear video, should be a big help in tracking them down.” He plugged the stick into his phone, presumably uploading the video to police headquarters.

I walked in. “I trust you'll share what you learn with us.”

“Well, ma'am, that's above my pay grade.” He excused himself and left the room.

“Okay Riki, what happened?”

“I got here a little early to get everything ready for you to leave, and spotted a couple of guys trying to get into the garage. As soon as I pulled in, they took off running next door. Half a minute later a truck tore out of that parking lot and barreled down the road towards Broadway.”

“So we didn't the truck on video?”

“Not going away, but they drove right by the office coming in. I took a screen cap so Gil can run the plates.”

I smiled. “Good work. Now let's go see if we can spring Dan.”

“Sorry about that. When the police asked me what might be worth stealing, it didn't occur to me not mention the drugs. Dan pulled up as they were cuffing me and took responsibility.”

“Don't worry about it. Dan seems to be taking it well.”

She snorted. “Yeah, I'm sure he usually has to pay extra for handcuffs.”

Riki hadn't shocked me that much since I first met her and heard the petite Japanese lady speaking in a Texas drawl. I thought I had an active and varied sex life, but compared to everyone around me I was downright prudish. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then followed Riki outside. Another police car had turned up and a large, solidly-built officer was unlocking the cuffs on Dan's wrists.

As he removed the cuffs, he said, “In the future, you might want to keep that stuff someplace a little more secure.”

“My drug storage meets and exceeds legal requirements,” Dan replied. “Look, one guy with a crowbar and bolt cutters could break into a typical off-site pharmacy, loot the Schedule II cage, and stand a good chance of being gone before the nearest unit could respond to the alarm. These guys didn't even get into the garage. Even if Riki hadn't shown up, you probably would have caught them still trying to break into the RV. If they made it in, it would take a good hour with safe cracking tools to breach my drug locker.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“My new boss takes security seriously.” Dan saw me approaching. “Well, speak of the devil. Jenny Philips, this is Sergeant Fellers.”

I shook his hand. “Is Sergeant your first name?”

“On duty it is. But I go off duty at noon.”

I smiled. “We should be near Dallas by then.”

“Too bad. So you're the one that's been the one keeping Dan away from his AA meetings.”

“Zombies don't understand schedules, and clients expect quick results.”

“I trust you at least keep him sober on the job.”

“There's usually no place to get a drink in the field. Besides, a drunk bears a close resemblance to a zombie, and most of the places we go suspicion is enough reason for a bullet to the head.”

“No wonder he called you the devil.”

“Whatever works, though I did not make him sign his employment contract in blood.”

“Maybe you should have. Okay, as much fun as all this banter may be, we need to wrap this up. As far as anyone can tell, nothing was stolen. The only damage is some scratches on your garage door. Probably just kids after drugs, guns, or electronics. Normally, investigating something like this would be a waste of time, but you've got better than average security cameras so we have good shots of their faces and the vehicle. If they're in the system, we'll identify them. If they aren't in the system yet, maybe getting arrested will scare them straight, keep them from advancing to more violent crimes in the future.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Hey, it could happen. Nice meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

He went back to his car and left, with the rest of the police following. A few minutes later, Lance and Gil arrived together. I filled them in on what happened, then Gil went to his office to see what he could find out before we left. By then Riki had pulled the RV out of the garage and backed it up to the trailer, so Lance and I went to hook it up. Lance handled the hitch while I plugged in the electric cables. In addition to the brakes and taillights, there was also a reefer box. It could keep five large adult corpses cold or, as I learned a few months before, eight boy scouts. If I needed to bring back more than that, it had an ice maker and I had a half dozen insulated body bags. A third cable powered the charging stations for three electric four-wheel ATVs. They could each carry two people, had a fifty mile range, and most importantly were silent enough that your average zombie couldn't hear them from more than twenty feet away. We usually left one person at the RV so we really only needed two of them, but it doesn't hurt to have a spare for breakdowns or emergencies.

Once everything was hooked up, Riki climbed out of the RV and I took advantage of the pause in activity to talk to her. “Hey, did you get my email?”

“Sure did. The stash at Camp Maxey was a popular topic for bull sessions in the motor pool. Rumor has it they buried dozens of M3 half-tracks. I'd love to get my hands on a few of those.”

“I'd have figured you'd want one of the tanks.”

“Nah, too hard to make street legal and maintain. Besides, I'd have to demil the main gun, which would be a travesty. Can you imagine what a Sherman tank firing 75mm canister rounds would do to a pack of zombies?”

I blissed out for a moment thinking about that. “Not too useful in this line of work, but it would be a sight to see.”

“In any case, yes, the burial of the 49th Division's equipment was well known in my part of the Army.”

“Thanks, that helps.” Right then Ashley arrived, still wearing the same clothes she had on the day before. “Ah, looks like we can finally get on the road.”

“Good hunting, and be careful.”

“Will do, Riki.”

I joined the others, who were getting their gear together to move out. “Ash, since you got to sleep in this morning, you have the first shift driving.”

She grinned at me. “Who says I got any sleep?”

“Then after taking the first shift you can catch an uninterrupted nap until we get to Paris.”

“Good point.”

We climbed aboard and settled in. Ashley got us headed north on I-35 while Dan filled her in on everything that had happened before she arrived. Lance activated the internal cameras and made sure the ones each of us wore were sending clear video and audio to the server. I still wished I hadn't agreed to Rob's reality show idea, but it felt good to finally get going.


	6. The Road to Paris

While Ashley drove, the rest of us settled down on a couple of couches to discuss important matters.

“So, who was supposed to bring breakfast this morning?” Lance asked.

“Me,” I replied. “Unfortunately, our unwelcome visitors forced a change of plans. We'll grab something when we change drivers in Austin.”

Gil said, “Speaking of our early morning intruders, the plates don't match the truck they were driving. They aren't even truck plates, they come from a car registered to an address in Inspiration Hills. The truck matches one reported stolen from Leon Valley last night.”

Lance said, “Putting car plates on a truck? Not too bright, any cop who spotted them would have pulled them over.”

“Anything else, Gil?” I asked.

“I've got a facial recognition search going on social media sites and criminal records databases. It's likely to take a while, private investigators don't have the same kind of access the police get.”

“Lance, have you got anything?”

“Not yet. I have keyword alerts set up on the major news sites.” He continued typing on his laptop. “I'm sending emails to a couple of reporter friends who work the police beat.”

I related what I had learned from Rob and Riki, then booted up my own laptop to do some research. I was curious about the timing. The weapons had been buried for nearly a century and the book in Castillo's home office was almost fifty years old. Castillo had been in business for over a decade, so if the guns really were his objective, why wait so long to go after them? I did a search for any recent news of note from the Paris area. The residents had all either died or fled during the Rising and the region hadn't been reclaimed, so there wasn't much to sort through.

“Well, this is interesting. Pat Mayse Lake isn't there anymore.”

A chorus of “What?!” hit me from all directions.

“With the area abandoned, the dam wasn't being maintained. About six months ago the Corps of Engineers demolished the dam in stages to keep it from collapsing all at once.”

Gil looked thoughtful. “Makes me wonder if the burial site was under the lake. That would explain why Castillo was suddenly interested in it now.”

“Just what I was thinking,” I said.

I turned back to my computer, pulling up satellite and aerial imagery, but the most recent views still showed the full lake. About that time, Ashley announced she was falling asleep and pulled into a truck stop in New Braunfels. It was earlier than we had planned to stop, but I knew from past experience that they served a decent breakfast. A few minutes and a round of blood tests later we were seated amongst a handful of other travelers. Lance and Dan kept glancing longingly over to the trucker's section of the dining room, where waitresses in skimpy German barmaid-style outfits served the truck drivers. We, on the other hand, had to punch our orders into menu screens on the table and pick up our plates at the counter. We ate quickly, wanting to get back on the road, and were soon moving again. Ash sacked out in the back while Dan took over driving duties. The rest of us returned to our computers.

We were approaching Austin when Lance broke the silence. “Looks like the cops found our early morning visitors. What's left of them, anyway.”

Gil and I looked at him, and he continued. “There was an explosion at a downtown hotel parking garage about the time we left town. Automatic lockdown procedures went into effect. It took about an hour for emergency crews to sweep the scene and declare it zombie-free. Investigators found the remains of a truck matching the description of and bearing the same license plates as the one from our office. Two presumed occupants were liberally distributed across the floor, ceiling, walls, and nearby vehicles. Not enough left of either of them to reanimate.”

“Have they released any pictures?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

Gil had been typing away at his laptop. “I found some video. A valet was retrieving a car from that floor when the truck exploded. He was far enough away to avoid injury, but was trapped while the garage was locked down. He passed the time recording the damage with his cellphone. He uploaded the video before the police arrived and there hasn't been a peep out of him since.”

“That much time in a hot zone, they're probably doing a thorough decon on him. Snag a copy before the cops take it down.”

“Already done.”

Gil mirrored his computer display on the RV's TV screen and played the video. It was gruesome, blood and body parts scattered everywhere. I was surprised the police could confidently state that it was the remains of two people. The damage to the truck was mainly at the front end. The roof was peeled back, the doors and windshield blown off, and the side and rear windows shattered. The hood was hanging from one hinge, the grill was gone, and the engine block was five feet in front of the truck.

“Looks like the explosion was inside the cab,” I said.

Gil said, “I'm no expert, but it looks that way to me.”

Lance nodded in agreement.

“Send a copy to Riki. She served in Afghanistan and Iran, she's probably seen every way a vehicle can possibly be blown up.”

Lance said, “Do you think that was intended for us?”

“Or intended to make sure they couldn't talk to the police. Either way, looks like those guys were up to more than random burglary.”

Gil added, “And either way, the police are going to be asking us why.”

“Good point. I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

I pulled out my cell and called our lawyer.

“Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, Attorneys at Law. Good morning, Jenny.”

“Dewey, have you taken on a couple of partners I don't know about?”

“Never mind, it's an old joke. What can I help you with?”

“I don't know if you've been following the news this morning, but apparently our alleged burglars this morning had some explosive mayhem in mind. The police are going to be looking to us for information, so have our 'Dissatisfied Customer' file ready to hand over. Don't give anything up without a warrant, but don't fight it either.”

“Will do.”

“I will let our current client know what is going on and advise her to contact you regarding any release of her information to the police.”

“I'll do my best to comply with her wishes.”

“I know you will. Bye.”

I hung up and placed a call to the client. I got her voice mail and left a brief synopsis and Dewey's contact info. I was looking up her home phone number when I got a notice that the message had been retrieved, so I switched gears and called Riki.

“Hey, Riki, have you seen the video?”

“Yep. Looks like a light anti-vehicular mine. Best as I can tell from the blast damage, it was sitting in the middle of the front seat with the charge facing towards the front.”

I connected my phone to the RV's sound system so everyone else could listen in. “You sure it was a mine and not some kind of pipe bomb?”

“I didn't see any pieces of casing, and the guy with the cell phone covered the area pretty thoroughly, maybe your brother should hire him. The only metal bits I saw were from the truck, which tells me it probably had a biodegradable organic shell. That makes it harder to detect and causes it to dissolve after a few months, rendering it inert. Though that second part doesn't work so well in the desert. The casing and liner are completely consumed by the explosion, making it ideal for covert operations.”

“Wow! I don't suppose you can tell me its home address?”

“Can't help you there. At least half a dozen countries make them, and many others buy them. Plus, they aren't too difficult to get on the black market. I've seen the results of Russian and Chinese versions in Iran, and was distantly involved in testing the US model when I was at Ft. Bliss. They're all pretty much the same. I've never seen one go off inside a vehicle like that, but the way it threw the engine block is telling. The non-metallic liner limits the penetrating power of the shaped charge, but it still generates a lot of force.”

“What would it have done to the RV?”

“Pretty much what it did to the truck. It probably wouldn't punch through the floor plates of your brother's LAV, but he wouldn't be driving anywhere afterward.”

“What sets it off?”

“Magnetic detector that picks up any significant mass of metal passing over it. The detector is activated and deactivated remotely.”

“And if someone activates it when there's enough metal in detection range...?”

“It goes off immediately. Intentional design feature. Mine a road, hide with the remote where you can see it, and you can pick one carload of bad guys out of a stream of civilian traffic.”

“Sounds like our boys were even stupider than I thought, or they have a boss that doesn't take failure well.”

“I'd bet on the latter. Anything else?”

“The police may come calling soon.”

“And I put on my best Sgt. Schultz impression and direct them to the lawyer.”

I exchanged goodbyes with her and hung up, not wanting to reveal for the second time that morning that I hadn't gotten the joke. At least Gil and Lance looked as clueless as I felt, although Dan let out a chuckle.

I had run out of the things to research, so I took over the driving when we got to Waco. A few hours later we had skirted around Dallas and were headed east on I-30. We stopped for an early lunch at a diner in Sulphur Springs, our last chance for a meal we didn't have to cook ourselves. After eating, Lance took over driving. He'd been to Paris once before, when he was working for Rob, so he was the best choice for this leg of the trip. We headed north from the interstate, arriving at a perimeter gate manned by the local police. Once I showed them my license, we were driving through abandoned territory.

We had maybe an hour before reaching our destination, so it was time to gear up. Our field clothing was a compromise between safety and comfort. We had lightweight Kevlar pants and jackets, woven through with titanium wire for extra bite protection, and an outer layer that was impermeable to fluids. It had to be loose fitting to keep us from boiling in our own juices in the summer heat, which had the drawback of making it easier for zombies to grab. To mitigate that, the outer surface was made as smooth and slick as possible. Leather boots and a helmet with full face shield completed the outfit. Everything was a medium gray to reduce visibility.

Once we were dressed, we strapped on our weapons. In addition to the carbines and handguns, Lance carried a 12 gauge bangstick like my brother's, while Gil and I each had a collapsible baton and a grenade for those odd little emergencies. Finally, Dan braided my hair, which I tucked under my jacket. It wasn't the most comfortable solution, but I'd rather do that than cut it short or leave it hanging out for zombies to grab. By the time we finished getting ready, we were approaching the outskirts of Paris.

Lance, who had dressed in field gear before taking the wheel, asked, “Where to, the high school?”

“Nah, head for the fairgrounds on the north side of town.”

“Gotcha. Good choice.”

Deciding where to set up camp in zombie country is another compromise. Conventional wisdom is to pick an open field that lets you see the infected approaching before they get close. The problem is that visibility works both ways. Zombies may not see too well in the daylight and lack the perception to distinguish fine details, but they will notice when a big honking RV appears in their territory and shamble over looking for food.

Our usual solution is to set up in the middle of the nearest high school football field. The stands and the field house will at least partially shield us from view, the fence is sometimes intact enough to give us an outer perimeter, we still have a clear field of fire of about 100' to the sidelines and twice that to the end zones. Plus, this being Texas, you have to be pretty far out in the desert before you're more than 40 miles or so from a football field.

When we're working in an abandoned county seat, the bull ring at the fairgrounds is even better. The stands typically go around all but one end and the fences tend to be sturdier.

“I'd like to check something out real quick,” Lance said. “Mind if we take a short detour?”

“Go ahead.”

Lance made a right turn, and I settled into the front passenger seat to see what he was up to. A few minutes later we were in front of a replica of the Eiffel Tower. It looked to be in pretty good shape, although the paint had faded badly on the giant red cowboy hat perched on the top. I swiveled one of the external cameras to get some footage of it.

“Well, it's still standing,” I said.

“Yep, but that's not what I'm interested in. Take a look to the right.”

I looked where he indicated and saw an array of upright granite slabs. “What is that?”

“The Red River Valley Veterans Memorial. See anything unusual?”

I looked again, not sure what he was talking about. Then it clicked. The flower beds surrounding the structure looked freshly weeded, the grass had been mowed, and the flag flying above it looked brand new. “Somebody has been tending it.”

“Exactly. I noticed it the last time I was out here. I did a little research and didn't find any official authorization to maintain the site.”

“Probably nothing to do with our business.”

“No, but it's right up your brother's alley. I suggest we not broadcast any images of the memorial and kick it over to Rob when he's back from his honeymoon.”

“Good idea.”

We continued through town, keeping a sharp eye out. There had been a sweep through this area a few weeks before, so we weren't too concerned about large packs but there was always the chance of stragglers. That might have been another reason for Castillo's timing in going to Paris. We didn't see any zombies and soon arrived at the fairgrounds. Gil and I checked the bull ring on foot, then cleared Lance to drive in and shut the gate behind him. Lance turned around and parked in the middle, facing the gate in case a quick getaway was necessary.

I took my rifle and climbed up on top of the RV to act as a lookout while the others finished setting up. Because it was designed for zombie country, the RV had a few extra features. It could be leveled by adjusting the suspension rather than using jacks, allowing us to bug out immediately if we had to. It also came equipped with an electric fence. Lance and Gil opened up a pair of outside doors behind the front seats and pulled out bundles of fence posts strung with wire from the compartments within.

They unrolled the fence around the perimeter, laying down a post every ten feet. Ash and Dan went along behind them, setting each post upright and activating the power auger at the base that seated each one firmly in the earth. That was another reason for using football fields and fairgrounds, the dirt was deep and free of rocks. There was a way to set up the fence on rocky ground or even concrete, but it took longer and made lots of noise. The fence doesn't enclose the front end of the RV, but there are no doors there and the windshield is too high for the zombies to reach. If we have to, we can cut the fence loose and drive off without it.

When they ran out of fence about eight feet behind the trailer, they took down the gate from the back of the RV and set it in place. Lance announced that the fence was live and turned on the juice. Then he took over lookout while I set up the solar panels on the roof. The panels don't quite generate enough power for our needs, but they do stretch out what we can get from the batteries. Under ideal conditions, the batteries will be completely drained sometime during the seventh night. In bad weather, they last maybe two days. There is a generator, but we try to avoid using it because the noise attracts unwelcome visitors.

Once the set up was done, we unloaded the ATVs and prepared to put the remaining hours of daylight to good use.

 


	7. Down By the Old Watering Hole

“Lance?” I said.

“We should check out the storage place first. On the satellite view it looks like the fence is down in a couple of places. Large area, short sight lines, probably took them all day to search it, and raising all those doors would make a lot of noise. Most likely place for them to get jumped by a pack.”

“Sounds like a plan. Okay, silencers on.”

Most gun laws were relaxed after the Rising, but suppressors were still heavily restricted. A few years earlier, one my competitors barely survived an epic battle against a huge pack of zombies that killed most of his team. He claimed that the sounds of their gunshots attracted several smaller packs to his position, and had some evidence to back it up. As a retired and decorated Texas Ranger his word carried a lot of weight and, after he testified before Congress, zombie trackers became one of the few civilian professions authorized to carry suppressors. We weren't allowed to use them in inhabited areas, and an embedded chip recorded the time and GPS location of every shot fired through them.

As we were screwing the suppressors into place on our carbines, I called for a com check. All of our radios were working fine, and Ashley confirmed she was getting clear video from our cameras. As usual, she would stay at base camp while the rest of us went out searching. Ash was a good backup in an emergency, but she didn't have the temperament for routine field work. She did the job I hired her for, and that was plenty.

Once we were sure everything was operational, we settled our gear into place and mounted the ATVs. Dan and Gil drove, while Lance and I rode behind. We both would have preferred driving, but we were the best shots so we had to be free to fire. We headed south back into town, taking a different route in case our previous passage had attracted some unwelcome attention. Ten minutes later we were outside the storage facility.

Lance had been right, the fence was down in places. Looked like it had been driven through from the inside, probably people retrieving motor homes when Paris was evacuated. We drove in through one of the gaps and parked behind the office. We got off of the ATVs and looked the place over.

“Looks like someone has been here recently,” Gil said, indicating a pile of five bodies stacked against the wall.

“Dan, check 'em out,” I said.

Dan went in for a closer look while I kept him covered. “They were put down around ten days ago, blunt force to the skull. Professional work,” he added, indicating a pair of hooks dug into the ribcages of two of the corpses.

Cleanup crews used hooks mounted on long poles to drag bodies around, when they weren't using bulldozers instead. To reduce the risk of infection, the hooks can be detached from the shafts and left behind after use. Our information indicated that Castillo's team used them as well. The fact that they were killed without using guns also suggested people with experience in zombie country. I motioned for Dan to keep watch while I pulled out my tablet and went through the pictures of our targets. These didn't look like our guys, but I snapped pics of their faces for later comparison. In the meantime, they weren't going anywhere.

“Right, let's look around.”

I led the way, with Lance bringing up the rear and Gil and Dan to either side. There were about eighty units, and the rear lot held half a dozen boats and one small RV with a missing radiator. About a quarter of the storage rooms were open, and looked like they'd been that way for years. They showed signs of having been disturbed recently, and the locks on all of the closed doors had been cut open. Judging by how bright the metal in the cuts was, that had been done in the last few weeks. Just before we left, we took a risk and opened one of the units. The dust on the floor inside showed fresh shoe prints, and the boxes had clearly been moved around not long before. We closed it and left the premises before the noise could attract any zombies. There was this pesky little regulation that gives zombie trackers the power to enter untenanted private property but requires us to leave it as close as possible to the condition in which we found it.

It looked like Castillo had finished his business at the storage place, so we went to check out his other official destination. It was a Victorian-style home a short way east of what passed for downtown. The neighborhood was in almost perfect shape, showing no sign of the damage usually caused by holdouts, looting, and zombie sweeps. A few days of work by a lawn care crew and the place would be livable. The house we were looking for was equally untouched. All of the doors and windows that we could see were intact. We parked in the driveway, and I covered Lance while he checked the front door.

“Deadbolt is locked.”

“Right,” I said. “Let's check the back.”

The back door had a simple latch, which was open. It led to what I only recognized as a mud room because Dad was an architect. He used to draw up plans for converting them to secure entry and decon chambers. The door from there to the kitchen was more substantial and had a deadbolt. This time Gil tried the door, finding it unlocked.

“It's been picked recently,” he said.

“The lady said one of her father's men was a locksmith,” Dan pointed out.

We went inside, carefully checking the corners and investigating any blind spots. Nothing in the kitchen seemed disturbed, although there was writing on the walls that looked recent. Each mark was a large X with a measurement written beside it in black marker.

I took a closer look at one. The distance printed next to it was right for the width of the room. “Someone's been drawing up a floor plan of the house. I remember Dad using this method a few times on houses that didn't have any drawings on file.”

“What for?” Lance asked.

Gil said, “The client said this house was supposed to have a secret room. That would be one way to find it. Map out the house and look for any missing space.”

We cautiously made our way through the house. In the living room we found a neat square cut out of the sheetrock wall, exposing a solid steel plate on the other side. We followed that wall around several corners, finding three more holes exposing metal plates enclosing a roughly ten foot square space. There were no apparent entrances.

“Upstairs?” Lance asked.

“Yep,” I said, “easier to hide a trap door in the floor than in the ceiling.”

We went upstairs and headed for the room directly above the secret vault. It turned out to be the master bedroom, and the trap door was under the bed. There was only one entrance to the room, so Dan watched that while the rest of us checked the closets and bathroom for any squatters, living or otherwise.

Once the room was cleared, Dan continued standing guard while we examined the bed and what it was hiding. The headboard was securely bolted to the wall, and the side rails were connected to it by concealed hinges. That allowed the rest of the bed to be tilted nearly upright, where it was held by a padded hook attached to chain dangling from a hole in the ceiling. An area rug that had been underneath the bed was pulled aside to reveal a removable section of the room's hardwood floor. Beneath that had been a heavy steel door, held open by a steel cable originating from the same hole as the chain. When not in use, the hole was apparently covered by a smoke detector. Looking up through the hole, I could see a winch attached to a massive ceiling beam.

“Hmm, wonder how they powered the winch? The electricity has been off for a few decades.”

Lance moved next to me and followed my gaze. “That's a twelve volt winch, they could have rigged it with a car battery and set of jumper cables.”

Gil, meanwhile, had been examining the vault door. “Castillo's safecracker knows his business. Did a professional job getting this open.”

I went to look down into the vault. A set of rungs welded across the angle of one corner gave access. It contained several wooden cabinets and a massive gun safe, all standing open, and one wall held a set of shelves. From the looks of things, Castillo's crew had taken everything that was portable.

“Don't guess they'll be coming back here,” Lance said. “Where next?”

I checked the time. “We have enough daylight left to do a sweep of the lake and see if there is anything we want to take a closer look at tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We quickly checked the rest of the house before heading back to the ATVs. I turned on the GPS and picked out a route that would take us to the upstream end of the former lake and guide us to where the dam used to be. It would only take us about half an hour to get there. Coming back would be even faster, from that end we could take the old highway. That gave us a bit over an hour to cover the lake bed itself, plenty of time.

The ride out to the lake was uneventful, other than having to swerve abruptly to avoid some live deer wandering across the road. I wasn't sure if the fact that they couldn't hear our electric motors approaching made them more or less dangerous. Upon reaching the lake bed, we took a few minutes to look it over. The old water line was clearly visible, but over the spring the plants had made a good start on reclaiming the valley. No trees, but a solid carpet of grasses and small bushes. The stream that had once fed the lake had cut a channel through the soil that had accumulated over the decades. We determined that traversing the lake bed would be faster and easier than following the old shoreline, so long as we didn't stray too close to the new stream bank.

After about thirty minutes, Dan and Lance crested a small rise and suddenly turned to the right and stopped. Gil and I, following behind them, did the same when we caught up. I immediately saw why they had halted. A few hundred feet ahead a pack of infected humans, deer, and dogs were making their way uphill from the stream. Even zombies need water, and it looked like they had a well-worn trail. We backed the ATVs down below the crest of the rise. I motioned for Dan and Gil to keep watch around us while Lance and I switched out the Glaser rounds in our carbines for jacketed hollowpoints.

We went prone and crept up to where we could just see the line of infected, using a couple of small bushes for concealment. A head shot with a carbine would be pure luck at this range, but the rifles would be loud enough to draw them all down on us at once. Luckily, head shots aren't the only way to bring down a zombie, just the most reliable. Enough damage to the heart and lungs would kill them eventually, it just takes a lot longer than with a live person, and Lance and I were good enough shots to get center of mass hits at this distance. Unfortunately, they all looked to be well-fed, which meant they would be more interested in finding and infecting us than chowing down on their fallen comrades.

We didn't have to discuss which targets to hit first. Lance and I were both taught by my brother, so we knew that four-legged critters were the priority. They were faster, and even seemed to be a bit smarter, than human infected. Having their higher brain functions out of order was less of a handicap for animals. And, also following my brother's advice, we would start from the extreme ends and work our way towards the center. This pack was big enough to have the collective intelligence to learn, so we first teach them to clump together for safety and then later give them a hopefully fatal lesson in why that was really a bad idea.

It was mostly deer at the ends, some dim remnant of animal instinct telling them not to get too close to the humans and dogs. I sighted on a magnificent buck at the downhill end of the pack and squeezed the trigger. Blood blossomed on his side and he staggered. He stopped and looked around, giving me an easier target for my next shot. He toppled to his side with that hit. I put three more rounds into his chest before he stopped trying to get up, but he was still thrashing weakly and coughing up blood. I switched to the doe just ahead of him. She started to turn my way, so the first shot caught her in the shoulder instead of the chest. She fell over towards me, so I put two rounds into her back. One of them must have severed her spine, her rear legs stopped moving. With her immobilized, I emptied the rest of the magazine into the last deer on that end of the pack and reloaded.

Lance finished off his last deer about then, and we went to work on the dogs. They were much smaller targets, so we settled for putting a couple of shots into each one to slow them down a bit. Absent a lucky shot, that was the best we could do.

Then we started on the former humans. There were fifteen of them, and by then a few had spotted us and were leading the rest our way, while the first moans echoed across the lake bed. We went to work on the fringes of the pack, and two by two our targets fell behind the rest. We had gotten over half of them by the time they got close enough for us to try head shots, and the remaining ones fell quickly after that. Then with the rest of the field clear, we finished off the dogs that were still mobile. Lance and I switched back to Glasers, and the four of us advanced cautiously, giving grace rounds to the infected that weren't quite dead yet and taking pictures of the humans.

Dan said, “I don't think any of these are our guys, they've been infected too long.

I nodded in agreement. Zombies don't decay while they're walking around, but their clothes do. Add that to the cuts and scrapes they pick up from shambling into things, and someone with an experienced eye can estimate how long it's been since they amplified. Still, I emailed the pics to Ash with instructions to run them through Gil's facial recognition program.

With that done, we now faced the tedious chore of cleanup. One of the regulations on licensed zombie trackers prohibits us from leaving corpses strewn about the landscape. I wasn't responsible for the ones back in town, because we didn't put them down, but these were all mine.

I bent down and pulled up a handful of grass. “This is pretty dry, probably hasn't been any rain for weeks. If we torch the bodies, we might set the whole place on fire. Drop a beacon and let State Health Services decide whether or not to send a cleanup crew.”

Unfortunately, that didn't absolve me of the need to gather all the bodies in one place. We worked in teams of two, dragging all the more distant corpses to pile them on top of the greatest concentration of dead meat. Since the hooks that most disposal teams used were too bulky for us to carry, we kept several coils of rope on the ATVs. Rather than untie the ropes after dragging, we just cut the ends loose and tied new loops. That was especially important in this case, because all of bullet holes in the torsos meant the rope ends were thoroughly contaminated. All of the nice, neat head-shot corpses were, of course, already at the spot we were dragging the bodies to.

About an hour and nearly two hundred feet of rope later, we were done. I pulled out a beacon and entered the species and number of bodies before activating it and tossing it into the center of the pile. That information, along with the GPS coordinates, would be transmitted to the nearest DSHS regional office.

I looked back behind us at the setting sun. “Damn, almost out of daylight.”

“The moon should be almost full tonight,” Gil said, “and if we weren't down in this valley we'd probably be able to see it already.”

“Right, put the red filters on the headlights.” That would let the drivers see where they were going without spoiling the night vision of the two of us riding behind. My best friend back in high school had retinal K-A, and at times like this I almost envied her ability to see at night.

We mounted the ATVs and continued our trip. Going back wouldn't be any faster from that point, and taking the highway from the dam end of the lake would be safer than the country roads we used to get out here. After about a quarter hour we came around a bend and spotted lights up ahead. There was a cluster of work lights around some kind of trench that was being dug out by a backhoe mounted on what looked an awful lot like Castillo's truck.

They apparently noticed us at the same time we spotted them, because a flurry of shots rang out and the ATV carrying Dan and Lance rolled over on top of them.


	8. Moonlight Carronade

There was a dry gully just ahead of us, shallow but it would provide cover. Gil drove down into it and we dove to the ground. More shots were fired as Dan and Lance untangled themselves from the other ATV and scrambled down to join us.

“Are you two okay?”

Lance nodded, but Dan said, “Left hand got caught between the handlebar and the ground when we rolled. Think I broke some fingers.” He cradled his hand against his chest.

“Why the hell are they shooting at us?” I asked.

“Maybe they think we're claim jumpers,” Gil suggested.

“Good point,” I said. I pitched my voice to carry and shouted, “Mr. Castillo! Your daughter hired us to locate you!”

Another barrage of gunfire answered me. I could hear rounds striking the tumbled quad, and both of the headlights were shot out. “Well, that didn't work. Maybe these guys are the claim jumpers.”

Lance said, “We need a closer look.” He took off his pack and pulled out a field camera, same type my brother uses. He manually extended one of the legs, and used that as leverage to fling the camera as far towards our unfriendly neighbors as he could. As it flew through the air, the other legs unfolded and extended, three of them acting as a tripod when it landed. The fourth, sticking straight up, functioned as a wireless antenna.

Lance pulled out his phone and accessed the camera app. “I think you're right. Castillo doesn't have any Anglos on his crew, but none of these guys are Hispanic. And there's too many of them.” He showed me the video feed.

I took a look. “Yep. Crap, they're headed our way. Need to do something about that.”

Lance pulled my M14 from the rack on the ATV and clicked off the safety. “On three. One, two, three!”

The three of us who still had the use of both hands stood up just enough to see our targets and opened fire. The loud cracks from the rifle were deafening compared to the nearly silent 'phuts' from the two carbines. One of the men went down, while the other six ran back and jumped into the trench. My phone started vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out and blindly tossed it backwards towards Dan.

“I could swear we got more hits than that,” I said.

Lance grunted. “They must be wearing body armor, and you two are still loaded with Glasers.”

Damn. Prefragmented rounds are unreliable against heavy clothing, much less Kevlar. Gil and I hurriedly changed magazines, not that hollowpoints would be much better against armor at this range. “Think we should try to get the other rifle?”

“We'd have to roll the ATV over to get at it,” Lance said. “That would give them way too much time to shoot at us.”

Dan said, “That was Ash. She called the police, chopper should be here in fifteen minutes, with a couple of patrol cars half an hour after that.”

We settled into wait, occasionally firing off some shots to keep the other guys' heads down, while they responded in kind. Gil helped Dan splint his broken fingers. Before long, the sun was completely down but the moonlight provided enough visibility for us to see what we were doing. The lights around the trench helped us even more at first, but our opponents realized that and shot them all out. Then they had to turn their guns on their former comrade when he lurched to his feet and staggered towards them. He went down again, permanently this time.

We ceased fire at the sound of a helicopter approaching. Ash could still get our video feeds and surely gave them a detailed description of our positions, but the police don't take kindly to anyone else shooting in their vicinity. We ducked down out of sight, no point getting shot just when help arrived. The copter came into view, spotlight searching for the trench. The bad guys opened fire at it, and it circled off to get to a safer distance. As soon as it turned away, a streak of fire rose from the ground and struck the helicopter's engine. There was an explosion, and the chopper crashed into the trees bordering the former lake shore. We popped up and started shooting again, just in time to spot one man drop a tube launcher and dive back into the hole.

Gil said, “That does it. No way they'll send a couple of patrolmen up against that kind of firepower.”

I nodded. “And it will take a couple of hours to get a SWAT team here from Dallas.”

Lance jerked his thumb in the general direction of our adversaries. “And they'll realize that and be desperate to escape and eliminate any witnesses.”

I looked up at the former lake shore. “Think we can get out?”

Lance followed my gaze. “We'll be exposed halfway up. But it looks like there's cover all the way down to the stream.”

“I don't see how that helps.”

“Their little hidey-hole is just a stone's throw from the water,” Lance said. He offered me the rifle. “I'll trade you this for your grenade. You keep their heads down while Gil and I sneak over and deliver a couple of surprises.”

I wanted to argue the division of labor but he had a point, even if he didn't say it outright. They both had better throwing arms than I did. I had just passed him my grenade and accepted the M14 in trade when I heard a faint, familiar “Bloop!” sound coming from the direction of the bad guys.

Lance heard it too, and we both shouted “Down!” in unison. A few seconds later there was an explosion somewhere back behind us.

Immediately, Lance and I scurried up the slope and started shooting, with Gil a few seconds behind. I gritted my teeth. “Dan, get up here!”

“But...”

“I don't expect you to hit anything, just scare them. They've got a grenade launcher, and you don't want them sticking their heads up to aim.”

A moment later Dan was up between me and Lance, resting the barrel of his carbine on a clump of grass and awkwardly firing one-handed. As soon as he started shooting, Lance stopped and crawled over next to Gil.

“Gil, let me get to your grenade. You'll have to stay here while I go it alone.”

I thought that was a lousy idea, but I didn't have a better one. “Leave your mags of Glasers here, we could use the extra ammo.”

“Good thinking,” he said, and did as I asked.

Another grenade went off well behind us as Lance made his way down the creek bed. Having to fire upwards from down in that hole meant the rounds were going long. Firing just shy of straight up would let them hit closer to us, but also made it possible that a stiff breeze would carry the grenade right back to them. I hoped that last part occurred to them.

“Dan, hold your fire. Take over when Gil has to reload and then you two alternate. I'll watch for a chance to get a hit.”

I fired my last few rounds and loaded one of the two remaining mags for the rifle. With only Gil shooting, the intrepid grenadier stuck his head up to take aim. My shot kicked up dirt just to the left of his face and he ducked down again. He decided to try the shot anyway, and the grenade exploded up the slope to our right. After that, the enemy took the next obvious step, standing up and blazing away at us with automatic rifles.

One burst went over our heads. The second kicked up rock splinters between me and Gil that rattled off of my face shield. The third guy made the unfortunate mistake of sticking his head up right in the center my scope, and I had the satisfaction of seeing a spray of brain matter burst from the back of his head as he went down before he could fire. The other two ducked down quickly after that.

Gil and Dan kept up the suppressive fire, and the bad guys refrained from showing themselves. The guy with the grenade launcher tried again, and this time it was about five seconds between the shot and the grenade exploding about a hundred feet to our left. That meant he was risking high angle shots. He must have seen enough dust kicked up to adjust his aim, because the next grenade was only about a third as far from us. Luckily, he was using impact-fused rounds, an airburst grenade would have gotten us.

Shortly after that, there was another burst of automatic fire but, although I could see the flashes from the gunfire, no one was visible over the rim of the trench. A few seconds later there was an explosion in the hole, and soon a second one. We stopped firing and kept watch, but no one showed themselves.

I keyed my radio. “Lance? Lance, come in.” No answer. “You two go check on him, I'll deal with the bad guys.”

They heard the tone of my voice and didn't argue. Gil hurried off, while Dan awkwardly slung his carbine so that he could grab his medical pack and follow. I stalked over towards the truck, rifle at the ready. As I got closer, my heart sank. Because of the slope of the ground the trench was dug into, they'd had a clear view down to the stream bank without exposing themselves to my fire. I reached the edge of the hole and looked down inside. The moon wasn't high enough, so I had to use a flashlight. The sight wasn't pretty, two grenades going off in such a small space make a hell of a mess. Body parts were strewn everywhere, and the sides and bottom of the hole were almost a solid red from all the blood. It was even worse than I expected. One of the men, maybe shielded by the bodies of his friends, was thrashing weakly. He might have been just wounded, or he might have already amplified. I didn't care. I put a bullet through his brain anyway. There wasn't enough left of the rest of them for Kellis-Amberlee to revive.

At the sound of the shot, a voice to my left yelled out, “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” A handgun sailed from the back of the truck and dropped to the ground, and two empty hands came into view.

“Keep 'em in plain sight, and get out of there.”

He climbed out of the truck, moving slowly and carefully, not giving me an excuse to shoot him. He must have been operating the backhoe, and chose the thin steel of the truck to hide behind instead of the thick dirt. Too bad. If he'd been stupid enough to attract my attention by shooting at us, I'd have loved teaching him how easily a 7.62 NATO round punches through sheet metal.

I pointed to a spot on the ground, just below the backhoe bucket. “Face down, cross your wrists behind your back.”

He seemed absurdly happy at this evidence that I wasn't going to just shoot him as he complied. I slung the rifle and drew my Colt. I had one of the leftover pieces of rope in my pack, but before I could start digging for it I spotted something better. There was a buckle-type tie-down strap on the ground. I picked it up and fashioned a loop on the end. I set a boot in the middle of my prisoner's back, slipped the loop around his wrists, and pulled it tight. The friction buckle held it as I wrapped the strap several times around his crossed wrists, then slipped the free end under his belt. I took up the slack, pulling his arms close against his back, then tied the end securely to the backhoe.

I moved over to the truck and looked over the controls. “Which lever raises this thing?”

“The left one.”

I tried the indicated lever and the bucket dropped. I stopped before it crushed his skull and moved it the other way. The backhoe lifted him from the ground, and I left him dangling in the air just over head height. “Don't struggle, or your belt might give way. Probably rip your arms off.”

I reached for my cell phone and realized either Dan still had it or it was back in the creek. Our helmet radios didn't have enough range, so I hoped the sound pickup on my camera was still working. “Ash, let the cops know that everything is under control here, and it's safe for them to come down. Also, make four copies of all the video and hide them.”

I took a walk around the area, keeping an eye on the hanging man. On the other side of the truck, I found a surprise. There was a 55 gallon drum on its side, with the top off and the contents spilled out. Hard to tell through all the cosmoline, but it looked like Thompson submachine guns.

I had just completed my stroll when I saw Dan approaching. I couldn't see his face clearly enough, but the fact that Lance wasn't with him and that he hadn't stayed with Lance told me it was bad news.

“Jenny, I'm sorry. Even with both hands, I couldn't have helped him. He was gone by the time I got there.”

“Do I need to...?”

“No. One round got him in the neck, severing the spinal cord. I, uh, I made sure it was completely severed.”

I went to him and hugged with one arm, carefully holding my handgun off to the side. “Where's Gil?”

Dan broke the hug and stepped back. “He went to get the ATV and retrieve Lance.”

We went and sat on the bumper of the truck. I felt secure enough to holster my gun. Dan slumped down. “Damn, I need a drink.”

“If there was any alcohol around, I'd pour it for you.”

Our prisoner, wisely, remained silent. If he'd drawn my notice, I might have killed him. A few minutes later, Gil drove up with a body bag tied across the rear seat. “The other quad is all shot up, not even worth dragging home for repairs.”

I unzipped the bag part way, looking down at Lance's face for a minute before turning away. Gil wrapped his arms around me, and his solid bulk was so comforting that I was finally able to cry. “Take him back to the RV and put him in the cooler. We're taking Lance home, no matter what the police say.”

Eventually, I pulled back from the hug, saying “Wait just a minute.” I pulled on my gloves as I walked back to the barrel. I dug through the contents and, sure enough, they were Thompsons. I pulled one loose, wiped it down as best as I could, and carried it back to the ATV. I slipped it into the body bag with Lance and zipped him back up.

“A belated wedding present for my brother. Lance would appreciate being the one to deliver it.”

I watched Gil drive off until I could no longer see his lights, then went back to sit next to Dan. We sat in silence for a while, then we heard a couple of car doors slam somewhere up the hill. We looked in that direction, and soon spotted a pair of flashlights bobbing down the slope towards us. Dan and I went to go meet them, and found they were being carried by state troopers.

Predictably, they drew on us and demanded we drop our weapons.

“No,” I said.

“Do it now!”

“Look, buddy, we put down a pack not two miles from here. All the gunfire going on while you two were up there twiddling your thumbs probably attracted more.”

One of them shined his light across our faces. “Okay, you match the descriptions. Just keep your hands in plain sight.”

“No problem.”

One of the officers stuck by us while the other took a look around. After peering down into the charnel pit he asked, “You folks want a job?”

“Already got one, thanks.”

He went to look over our prisoner, then turned back to ask his partner, “Should we let this guy down?”

“Nah, leave him there until we get more people on-scene. If any zombies show up, we can always raise him up out of reach.”

After we spent about half an hour of making small talk with the cops, the SWAT team rolled up, having thought to bring off-road vehicles. They made a great show of securing the scene, and the detectives came along not much later. Dan and I were split up for questioning, which took a couple of hours. In the midst of that, a large pack of zombies turned up. We were content to let the SWAT team handle them, figuring they needed something to make themselves feel useful.

Finally, we were free to go, and one of the first pair of state troopers gave us a ride back to our base camp. There we found Gil arguing with a detective about the custody of Lance's remains. I got my cell phone back from Dan and woke up our lawyer. He spouted a torrent of legalese at the cop until he passed the decision up his chain of command. We got to keep Lance, but it took until nearly dawn to get that settled. Once the police left, I got Ashley's side of the story.

“You called it, they wiped the video from our system. I deliberately did a half-assed job of hiding one of the backups, and they found it. After half an hour of them threatening me with arrest, I gave up the location of a second one. They seemed satisfied with that.”

That left us with two copies, and we made a few more just in case. We decided to nap until noon and then head home. I snuggled up with Gil on the big bed for some mutual comfort, while Dan and Ash squeezed onto one of the couches.

 

* * *

**Epilogue**

The cops interrogated the survivor, and he led them to another pit where the bodies of Castillo and his crew were buried. The Attorney General's office decided to leave them where they lay, as the only person left alive to prosecute had given a full confession.

Eliot Richards refused to pay the rest of our fee on the grounds that we didn't finish the job, and Carmilla didn't have the personal funds to cover it. That lasted until her father's estate was out of probate and she took ownership of the company. She paid us in full, and added a substantial bonus on top of it. Then she hired us to escort her, a priest, and a group of mourners back to the site for a graveside service.

We arrived to find the Corps of Engineers carefully digging up the site, and they tried to deny us access. Luckily Riki came along. She speaks fluent Army and was able to talk us in, and even convinced them to set up the headstones once Carmilla had them delivered. Richards was there as well, and he was graceful in defeat. We learned from the Engineers that the rumor about live ordnance being buried with the guns was true. It seems Lance's grenades touched off something buried in the pit, which accounted for the human confetti that I had found.

I posted segments of the video to Rob's site, and it went viral. We made a nice chunk of change shopping the complete video of the firefight to various networks. CNN later identified one of the gunmen as being a known subordinate of a gun-runner named Alec Forester. It turned out that this Forester not only supplied rebels and terrorists, he also had a lucrative trade in high-end collectible guns.

We got word that the guns would be recovered and offered for sale to collectors. Dewey got together with Carmilla's lawyer to file a joint claim for a finder's fee. I wondered how many of those same collectors would have bought the guns from Forester if we hadn't stumbled across the operation. I may have just made an even more dangerous enemy than Rob's drug cartel. I win again.

Once he got back from his honeymoon, Rob reverently accepted his wedding present. We had held off holding a wake until Rob got home, and he showed up at our office with the Thompson cleaned and ready to fire. We all went out to our range, where my brother fired a full magazine through it in tribute to Lance. Then we went back to the office for the serious drinking.

Dan attended, but did not partake. I poured him the drink I had promised. He held it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, then handed it back to me untasted. I drank it for him.

Riki volunteered to join us in the field until I can hire a replacement. Even part-time, auto mechanics isn't exactly a sedentary occupation, especially working on behemoths like Rob's LAV. She still pulls Army Reserve duty every year, so her skills aren't too rusty. Hell, she taught us small unit tactics, something Rob couldn't teach. Dan, Gil, and I only survived that night because of her instruction.

Lance's great-grandfather had been a Freemason, and his family had a block of burial plots in the Masonic section of the cemetery across the street. With binoculars, I can see his grave from the window in my office.


End file.
